Prophecy of the Deathly Hallows
by Velvet Quills
Summary: Three Hallows. Two legends. One Prophecy. One sent others to Death, and was killed for it. One tried to cheat Death, and was done in by it. One asked safety from Death, and was granted it. History doesn't repeat itself, but sometimes it comes darn close. AU, just about everyone is redeemed.
1. Gold

_**Prophecy of the Deathly Hallows**_

Author's Note: This story is written in response to twelve of different prompts from twelve different people here on ffnet. I will note on my profile page what these challenges are, if you want to look them up to see where this story is headed.

For those of you who are also reading my other story, Two Blacks Diverged, that takes precedence over this one. If I only have time to post for one, it will be that one. However, my lack of schedule for this little fic may mean updates in close succession, when I find free time. Reviews et al. may entice me to update, though!

Read on at your own peril. ;)

* * *

 **Arc One: Finding Out: Part One**

(Gold)

" _Gold conjures up a mist about a man, more destructive of all his old senses and lulling to his feelings than the fumes of charcoal._ " - Charles Dickens

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was sitting in the seat behind the Headmaster's desk at Hogwarts, the exact same seat he had sat in for over twenty years. His blue eyes were giving off his signature twinkle, the exact same twinkle they had given off for over sixty years. To any casual observer, he would have looked so ordinary (for Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore), that they would assume he was feeling exactly ordinary.

That observer would be wrong. A. P. W. B. Dumbledore was feeling thing very much _out_ of the ordinary (even for him). He was feeling a quite remarkable assortment of things, in fact, but they all centered around one great anomaly: a prophecy.

Now, seers make prophecies every day. Most of them are unknown, and those that are known are generally of very little significance. Why, then, was the time's most revered wizard so flustered about a prophecy? Well, that's a good question. The answer is a good one, too.

The prophecy in question had been made by a Hogwarts alumna, Sybil Trewlaney. He had had the experience of hearing it firsthand, during her job interview. Although he hadn't planned to hire a Divination teacher to begin with, he felt he owed her something, and how could anyone be a worse teacher than none at all? If few took her subject (as he would encourage), that would not affect her pay. He felt that he had handled the Trelawney situation very well.

No, what was worrying his was not his newest Professor. It was, instead, what had been overheard by the _other_ young wizard who had come to apply for a position: one Severus Snape. Snape had been waiting outside the room for his interview, and had heard part of the prophecy. As Snape was suspected to be a Death Eater, one of the servants of the Dark Lord Voldemort, this meant that what Snape had heard to the prophecy was potentially in Voldemort's hands. This meant that the Dark Lord could act accordingly.

This wouldn't have been a problem normally, but this particular prophecy concerned that personal Dark Lord's demise. Even worse (for him to know), it stated the terms by which such demise would come about. It ran thus:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...

To Dumbledore, it was quite clear what three people the prophecy referred to. The "one" was the son of either Mrs. Longbottom or Mrs. Potter, both of whom were due to deliver male babies at the end of July.

The Dark Lord was obviously Tom Marvolo Riddle, Voldemort himself.

And the "other"? Him, or course. He, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, was the one spoken of in the fourth line of the prophecy. To make the meaning of the prophecy more clear, he wrote it out to make it a logic puzzle.

Conditions:

I (Albus) can kill the child, but not Voldemort.

The child can kill Voldemort, but not me (Albus).

Voldemort can kill me (Albus), but not the child.

Only one of the three may be alive at the end.

The three possible solutions:

1) I (Albus) kill the Chosen One, who has killed Voldemort

2) the Chosen One kills Voldemort, who has killed me (Albus)

3) Voldemort kills me (Albus), who has killed the Chosen One

Of those, he wanted Voldemort dead, which excluded option three. He also would prefer to live, which made option one preferable to option two. In conclusion, he decided, he would try to make sure he didn't kill the Chosen One before the child killed Voldemort, and if he died before then, so be it. However, he would try his hardest to continue to live, and if he did manage to live past Voldemort's demise, he would stoop to killing the child.

With that matter settled, he opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a bowl of lemon drops, and proceeded to pop one in his mouth. Voldemort would have a hard time killing him here at Hogwarts.

* * *

It did not occur to Dumbledore until over a year and a half later that maybe he _could_ kill Voldemort. He'd just come across the piece of parchment with his notes, and thought that perhaps, while only the child could "vanquish" the Dark Lord, Voldemort still couldn't "live" while he did, meaning he could kill, but not destroy, him.

Perhaps it spoke of the Death Eaters as the part of him that would not be vanquished when he himself was killed. In that case, the child might vanquish him by stepping into his shoes as a new Dark Lord for them to follow, destroying their allegiance to Voldemort. That would be bad. On that assumption, Dumbledore decided a face-off with Voldemort was in order, to kill him and stop his terrorization of the Wizarding World. The DMLE could handle the Death Eaters.

Now, only to plan... Ah, he had it! He would let slip the Potters' location, baiting Voldemort to come. With this in mind, he even had the beginnings of a plan to make it so that, when he had to kill the child, he would not be blamed for it by the public. Genius! One letter to Lily Potter would solve all the problems of both the prophecy and their resident Dark Lord.


	2. Devils

_**Prophecy of the Deathly Hallows**_

Author's Note: Thanks to _RoseBadwolf1000_ and _pacco1_ for favorite'ing and following, _MoneyNinja_ for following, and _philippii_ for reviewing.

* * *

 **Arc One: The Prophecy: Part Two**

(Devils)

" _It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting the devil. If they would only expend the same amount of energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own tracks of ennui._ " - Helen Keller

The Longbottoms had never gone into hiding, because it was clear from the start that Voldemort was only interested in the Potters' son. Peter Pettigrew, their extremely loyal but easily overlooked Secret Keeper, was pleased to allow his former Headmaster into his friends' home, and Lily and James were equally pleased to receive him.

It was a little unnerving for the elderly wizard to see kind Lily's face so hardened with worry, merry James's dulled into deep seriousness. The only spark of joy in their modest household was in the form of the almost-fourteen-month-old Harry, who ran hither and thither, filled with childish glee. Peter took him to the nursery to watch him while Dumbledore spoke with James and Lily.

"You got my owl, Lily?" He asked, once cordial greetings had been exchanged.

"Yes," she replied, soberly. "I can't say I understand or agree, but," she looked to James for support, and received an encouraging squeeze to the hand which was laced with his, "If you say it is for the best for Harry, we can only agree..."

"It is," Dumbledore urged. "The only way Harry will be able to have any semblance of a normal childhood is for him to grow up without all this looming over him. I do not question your competency," he mollified, "But the best parents in the world couldn't hope to raise a child to be mentally and physically healthy while cooped up in a cottage and unable to interact with people his own age. And with the prophecy business as well - well, he would have so much to cope with that any chance of a normal existence would be forfeit. I only want the best for your son, Lily, James. It's killing me to image how he would feel, knowing from such a young age he has to grow up to be a murderer."

"You're right, of course," James said, "But... You're absolutely certain that Voldemort will not think of looking for Harry at Lily's sister's house? They're muggles, you know, and to him..." James did not voice the fear that he and Lily shared that Petunia and the Dursleys would be massacred, and Harry slaughtered; but Dumbledore could read them well, and understood.

"I myself will ward the house to hide his presence, but James, Lily, you know Voldemort. You know his disgust for all things muggle - had he a child prophesied to defeat his enemy, he would think of the child as a weapon rather than a human being, and would not let his weapon into the hands of those who he despises beyond reason. He would instead hold it close, and sacrifice its human nature. And Voldemort, in the folly of his arrogance, believes all strong and clever people would act as he, we included."

"I already wrote to Petunia, and she agreed to take him in," Lily stated, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm so glad that we made up with each other after I graduated from Hogwarts, as she's my only muggle relative left. As it is, though, I have no doubt he'll be in good hands."

James cleared his throat gruffly. "I know you say the sooner the better, but can he spend one last Halloween with us before he goes? Sirius and Remus haven't seen him in weeks, and I'm sure Peter would like to say a formal goodbye as well...?"

"Of course," said Peter's voice from the doorway. It'd changed late, but he now had a booming bass, lower than any of his friends. While still the shortest of the four, his slight, boyish frame spoke of agility with a quiet strength, and since Hogwarts he'd grown out his blonde hair down to his jaw, adding a short, neat beard. At twenty-one, Peter Pettigrew looked more of a man than almost any of his former classmates could have expected. He had recently opened a small clothing store in Diagon Alley, Pettigrew's Fine Attire for All Occasions, where he sold both wizarding and muggle styles. With his half-blood upbringing, he had a fortune waiting to be made in the fashion industry.

"Harry wore himself out, so I came to tell you that I put him to bed," he continued, evenly. "I couldn't help but overhear the end of your conversation. Is Harry really going to live with your sister until he comes to Hogwarts, Lily?" As the first child of any of the Marauders, Peter, along with Remus and Sirius, his godfather, were especially protective of him.

"Will we be able to visit him? Send him owls? Birthday presents?" Peter demanded, fiercely. "Lily, how much can we trust your sister? Petunia, is it? Petunia Dursley?"

"Calm down, Peter," Dumbledore said, soothingly. "Lily has confirmed her trust in her sister. It will, unfortunately, be impossible to communicate with Harry, as doing so might bring Voldemort's attention on him. However, rest assured, he will be in the best hands possible."

"But why can't I take him?" Peter demanded. "Why not Sirius, his godfather, or Remus? Any of us could go somewhere, hide. Heck, all five of us would go muggle if it meant staying with Harry."

Dumbledore sighed in masked frustration. Just when he was swaying the parents to his scheme, the overprotective uncle had to come in and plant the seeds of doubt in their minds.

"You five are some of the most valued fighters in our opposition of Voldemort," he objected. "To lose you five would be to hand Voldemort the Wizarding World on a silver platter. Once he was Minister for Magic, he could pursue and slaughter you at his leisure, using the bast resources of the entire community. Would you want Harry to grow up on the run? Or to not even have the chance to grow up at all? Voldemort knows the prophecy, friends, and he will stop at nothing to take Harry's life."

"Yes, the prophecy," Peter pressed. He was relentless today, seeing that James's and Lily's intrinsic faith in Dumbledore had led them to become resigned to the turn of events. "Why, exactly, can we not hear it? At least the parents of the child of the prophecy? Why must we not heat it, when even our enemies know its words? Why are you so vague?"

The truth of the matter was that Dumbledore was afraid that they would realize his involvement with it. Drawing on decades of sophistical political maneuvering, he played his trump card and hoped it would not fail.

"While you think that knowing the prophecy would assist you, on behalf of the greater good of Harry's whole future you must bow out. I have heard the prophecy, and I realize that with each additional person who hears it, the world - and Harry's life - is put into greater jeopardy. Do you not trust me and my judgement? Would you sacrifice Harry's future for mere curiosity?"

Peter opened his mouth to retort, but was shot down by simultaneous glares from both James and Lily, and shut it again.

"Of course we trust you, Headmaster, and we have no qualms about doing what is best for Harry in the long run," Lily said, determinedly. "Will you come to pick him up on the first of November, then?"

"Yes, and I will take him alone," he forestalled any further questions, "I will draw a lot less attention showing up alone with Harry, than a whole entourage would. I will keep him safe."

"Thank you, Albus, you've done so much for our family," James replied, gratefully. "Knowing that my son will be in such capable hands is a load off my shoulders."


	3. Cold as ice

_**Prophecy of the Deathly Hallows**_

Author's Note: Yep, two posts in a row. I'm having a good day. :)

* * *

 **Arc One: The Prophecy: Part Three**

(Cold as ice)

" _There's always that first step in skating, from dry ground to slick ice, when it seems just impossible. Impossible that two thin blades of metal will support you, impossible that because its molecules have begun to dance a little slower water will hold you up._ " - Carol Goodman

Petunia Evans Dursley was not a warm woman, but she loved her husband and son as much as her sister, Lily Evans Potter, did her own. She had become closer to the other woman in recent years, after that interfering Snape boy was out of the picture. When Lily had written, explaining the situation in the Wizarding World and all but begging for Petunia to raise her son, she'd grumbled perfunctorily, but been delighted at the display of trust from her sister.

Petunia had promised, sworn on their parents' graves, that she would treat Harry as her own son and give him the warmth and care every child deserved. For this reason, if you had told her that she would look down on him and scorn him with distaste, she would've recommended you to a relative of Vernon Dursley's who was a psychologist, or chased you out of her home for insulting her (probably both). However, a few months after Harry had arrived, that was exactly how she was acting.

It had been slow to build up, but every member of the house had developed an irritation with the child which could only escalate into full-out loathing. This was when there came a polite knock on the door, and Petunia opened it to find a young woman in a witch's robes outside. The blonde-haired witch wore a friendly smile, and looked to be a few years younger than Petunia, perhaps eighteen or nineteen.

"Hi, Mrs. Dursley," she said. "My name is Charity Burbage. I have something to ask of you, but you might not prefer it to be said out in the street."

Petunia stared. She had an inherent awe of magic, reinforced by Lily's refusal to allow her taunts to alienate the younger girl, and she was curious of what this Burbage character had to say. Vernon, who was somewhat disgruntled by magic, was at work, so she had no qualms about saying, "Yes, of course. Do come in?"

With Charity seated in her parlor, she offered the witch tea (which was accepted), and sat back to listen.

"So, I'm taking my exams to pass Muggle Warding," she said, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve as Petunia took in her words in abject fascination, "You know, when you put wards around a house in which Muggle devises have to still work, it takes a lot more finesse. My final project is to place a harmless ward around a Muggle-inhabited house, and see if their devices still work. While I'm confident in my skill, I can promise that, should I fail, my instructor will be by within a day to right everything.

"I was given a list of Muggle families who were known to be cognizant of the existence of magic, and I chose you to ask first because I knew your sister, Lily Evans. She was a prefect my first year, and she helped me out a few times when I was being bullied for being muggle-born. I, uh... May I, erm, do this, then?"

"I see no reason why not," Petunia said, briskly.

"Thank you!" Charity gushed. "Do you have a backyard or somewhere I can try it from, so the muggles on the street won't begin asking awkward questions?"

"Right this way," Petunia was the picture of politeness as she led her unexpected visitor into her perfectly-manicured garden.

"Would you like to stay and watch?" Charity asked, considerately. "Or, would you prefer to go inside and I'll make sure you can't see or hear me?"

"No, I'd like to watch, if you don't mind." Petunia was genuinely intrigued now.

"Righty then," Charity agreed. Petunia couldn't help but flinch when the other woman drew her wand, but she quickly recovered and stared in fascination as the witch began swirling the stick and murmuring fluent words that sounded Latin.

Abruptly, Charity halted, a look of surprise and consternation on her face.

"Mrs. Dursley," she began.

"Please, call me Petunia," the other interrupted.

Charity nodded. "Petunia, were you aware that your house is... Already warded intricately?"

Petunia shook her head franticly. "No! I'm sorry, I had no idea, I didn't mean to do anything illegal..."

"Petunia! Calm down," Charity ordered. "This is no fault of yours, and in no way a criminal action. Or," she hesitated, "It wouldn't be, but for the nature of one particular ward."

"Oh?" Morbid curiosity prompted Petunia to inquire.

"Yes. There are seven wards here, all with the magical seal of the same wizard. Three are warding against damage to the house and people within it. One is a damper for accidental magic. Two are wards to allow information about the status and activities of the people in the house to be delivered to the warder. Those are bad enough, but it's the last that really has me concerned. The Inimicitiae Ward. It's considered very Dark, illegal, of course, and has been used in the past as a form of torture, even. The Inimicitiae Ward, or Ward of Hatred, bends the perception of people around a certain individual to find that one despicable in defiance of any logic, often causing them to vent this implanted anger in violence on that one."

Petunia gasped in horror. She made the leap of intuition that the person the ward was directed to was Harry, and, having realized that, she at once saw how twisted her views of him had become. For goodness sake, she loved the boy! Why on earth would she have abused him so? It tore at her very heart in shame to even contemplate the possibility.

"Can you remove the wards?" Her voice was tight, curt, controlled.

Charity hesitated. "I might be able to, but then the wizard who cast them would know for sure. However, the Inimicitiae Ward can be pretty much negated, if you pay mind to your logic instead of your irrational enmity. That would be a temporary solution, and for more long-term, I would suggest relocating." Charity shrugged sympathetically. "I'm sorry, but I don't think making a blatant enemy of whoever is trying to sabotage your family is such a good idea. There's no way for me to find out who the wizard - or witch - is, so we can't bring him to justice, but I _do_ hope we can help your family somewhat."

"You've done quite enough already," Petunia replied, courteous to the last. "I'll speak to my husband about it when he comes home, and we'll move. As you can't catch the criminal, we'll just have to evade him. I really appreciate the time you've given to warn me."

"Think nothing of it," Charity smiled, "Virtue is its own reward."


End file.
